Simmons stood in the middle of the south parlor, bags at his feet and on the sofas, pulling lights out of their boxes.
“Madam.” He sounded grateful. “You have a plan for all of this?”
“Of course. Tree in the corner.” I pointed to the right of the fireplace on the east wall. “Lights on the tree, around the front doors, and around the roofline. Net lights on the junipers outside. Wreath on the door.”
“Candles in the window and carols at the spinet,” he quoted, and smiled at me. “This will be nice.”
“Won’t it? Where’s the tree?”
“I’ll have someone bring it in. We’ll take care of it, Madam.”
I may have pouted a little. Just a little, though.
“You wanted to do it?”
“Well, call me when the tree is up and the lights are on. I want to decorate it.”
I wandered away. Well. I could go make up with Grant, or I could go do just about anything else. I turned around and poked my head back into the parlor. “Simmons, can you send a bottle up to my dressing room?”
“Of course, Madam.”
At least I’d eat something. Then I’d probably feel better. Though not good enough to be anyone’s wife, that was for damn fucking sure.
I flopped onto the sofa in my room. I needed a television. Like, a giant one. Sixty inches, maybe, right smack over the fireplace, ruining the look of the room. And a satellite dish. And every pay channel ever.
Since I had none of that, I flipped open my Kindle and went back to the book about a vampire PI I’d started yesterday. Someone knocked after two minutes; I yelled “Come in” and ignored them, thinking they’d drop my bottle (and glass, of course, because we’re not savages, after all) on a table and scoot out again.
I turned around when I didn’t hear the door close.
“I’m sorry,” Grant said.
Well. It was a goddamned Christmas Miracle.
“I have not taken a lover since the nineteenth century, you realize. I am – adjusting to you.”
To what? To my having opinions and leaving the house without him? “It’s rather an adjustment for me, too.” Because, you know, I died.
“As I said, I apologize.”
I shrugged. “Accepted.”
He raised a brow at me, as if he didn’t quite believe it. I didn’t, either, but I was tired and hungry and didn’t feel like arguing. Probably this would come back to bite him later, but we’d cross that incredibly unpleasant bridge when we came to it.
“Shall I help you with your tree?”
“I’d like that.”Show Covenhouse Christmas Post List